must we to bed indeed
by The North Wyn
Summary: The common room is dark, lit only by the movie credits scrolling across the screen and, for a minute, I think it's empty. It's not. Ward is sitting very very still on the couch, a pained expression on his face, with FitzSimmons, sound asleep, propped up against him, one on each side of him. It's kind of adorable.


_A/N: So I wrote fluff. I even resisted the urge to write it as angsty flashback fic. Aren't you proud of me? :-D Anyway, this is set pretty early on in the series. Like a few weeks after the team forms?_

_Oh, and the title comes from the poem _Good Night_ by Robert Louis Stevenson__._

* * *

The common room is dark, lit only by the movie credits scrolling across the screen and, for a minute, I think it's empty. It's not.

Ward is sitting very _very_ still on the couch, a pained expression on his face, with FitzSimmons, sound asleep, propped up against him, one on each side of him. It's kind of adorable.

"What's wrong, Ward? Are they drooling on you?"

"They need to be in bed," he replies grumpily. "I have to put them to bed."

I snort. Is this guy for real?

"You _can_ just leave them there, Ward. They're not little kids; they can put themselves to bed. You know, when they wake up."

Ward ignores me—no surprise there—and with the care and precision of someone executing a military maneuver (with a broody look of concentration to match) repositions FitzSimmons so that they don't fall over when he slides out from between them. He then stands and leans over Fitz.

He actually picks Fitz completely up in his arms and carries him off, bridegroom-style. I gape. Fitz is evidently a very sound sleeper, because he doesn't so much as stir. I trail behind Ward as he carries Fitz down the hall to his bunk. Ward pushes the door open with his foot and steps inside.

For someone so precise, Fitz is a little bit of a slob. For example, his bed isn't actually made, and there's piles of stuff everywhere. I briefly wonder if he was in the middle of something and had simply forgotten to clean up or if he just hadn't settled in yet. It'd only been a few weeks, after all.

I slip past Ward and untuck the blankets on the bed the rest of the way. Ward sets Fitz down on the bed, tugs off his shoes carefully, and pulls the blankets over him.

It's … really sweet, actually.

"Ward, I didn't know you cared," I tease.

"You'll wake him up," is all Ward says, waving his hand in a let's-get-out-of-here gesture.

I follow him back down the hall to the common room, where Simmons is still sleeping peacefully on the couch. And I half expect him to just cover her with a blanket and call it a night, but no. He picks her up, cradling her in his arms almost … tenderly? It's a strange contrast. To his usual grumpy self. To the strength that he usually puts to use fighting in the field.

Simmon's a much lighter sleeper than Fitz, though; she stirs in her sleep.

"Shh, stay asleep, Simmons," Ward says quietly, and I could be wrong, but I think that this is his attempt at being soft. It works—good to know, may need to remember that one day—and she relaxes, snuggles almost, against Ward's chest. Ward gets a funny look on his face. Guess he doesn't have much experience carrying sleeping girls. I get momentarily distracted by that thought and its implications and then I realize we've reached Simmon's door. I duck around Ward and push open the door.

Jemma's bunk is much tidier. For example, her bed is _made_. And there's absolutely nothing out of place in the tiny space. I wonder if that's how she likes it—I suspect so—or if she's not really settled in yet, either. I pull the covers back. Ward sets Simmons down gently. He slips her shoes off, pulls the covers up, and tucks them snugly around her shoulders. He takes one last look to make sure everything's in order and then heads for the door. He makes a shooing motion towards me. I take the hint and step out into the hall.

It was … nice to see Grant Ward's more caring side.

"There's hope for you yet, Agent Ward."

"Mmm," he replies. "It's late. You should go to bed; training's at 0630 tomorrow morning."

I groan. Ward starts to walk away.

"Hey, wait. Aren't you going to tuck _me_ into bed?"

"Goodnight, Skye."

Worth a try.

**-end-**


End file.
